Part 2: Chapter 15: O'er the Wide Seas of the Night

Dwalin waited with his answer, joining Thorin as he listened and watched Sona handle the barrage of Dwarven curiosity, multiplied. Thorin's eyes panned from the face of his One to the handkerchief she held, and back again.

The whole time you cried?

"Have you told us the truth?" Bofur asked, rather somberly, his body held still in anticipation of the answer he hoped for.

"Yes," she answered quickly, far more quickly than she gifted him songs.

And relief bloomed large and bouncing on the Miner's face, as well as for all in the Company.

"How'd you get here?" Kíli asked, and Thorin smirked; the lad rarely cared to go deep into how things worked, as long as they worked. But indeed, in this case, the how of all this would most certainly be interesting.

Unfortunately, Sona couldn't tell him how, not knowing herself.

The fogs––Mahal knows.

"Why are you here?" Fíli asked, ever more the Philosopher; perhaps why would at least explain the reason for how. Mahal hasn't said.

Sona shrugged, shaking her head, "I know some things, but not that," drawing closer to all of them. "Will you swear to keep a secret?"

Thorin smiled, admiring her way of explaining, her choice of words and how she got started––admiring the grace in your shoulders as you shrug.

"Hurry, and aye, all in favor, say 'Aye,'" Balin took the roll, and Sona got her oath, as every member of the Company hastily agreed. His Company had no problem keeping secrets.

"I'm from the future," she began. "The faaaar future. Middle-earth is just called Earth now and everything that happens in your time has been recorded in our histories."

Thorin startled somewhat, remembering she had not mentioned the future back when she explained things to Tharkûn. Confused, Thorin tried to see meaning in her face as she spoke, because this was different––You told the Wizard you were from another world––And we were in books––stories from that world you come from. Now you speak of history, not some book's tale with a grocer as a hero.

Thorin looked his Company over as they took this news––do you adjust for better understanding, Asti?

Dwalin showed no reaction. The Warrior already had a good idea from prior conversations. As well as Fíli. And Balin. The rest of them stared with mouths gaped, full of concentration on her every word.

"To many, it's been so long, you're considered legend at this point."

You did not lie then––Thorin recalled how disturbed he had felt, hearing this; that they were some characters in books, their stories pre-written–– and I still don't understand.

"So, " Fíli asked, already aware Sona had traveled so far, "you know all that awaits us; what will come to pass?"

Fíli goes to the question.

"Oh goodness no, not at all." Curious eyes followed back to Sona. "I have a broad general knowledge of things, but, for the most part I'd been a poor history student."

You knew my name when we met, Asti.

"I focused on the big picture events and cultures of Middle-earth, particularly in this era, rather than specific individuals."

You punched me with it––all your knowing.

"Ah, that's why you know so much about Elves," Balin said, nodding and smiling that way he did when enjoying a good tease. "They likely read on paper much prettier than Durin's folk."

Thorin almost burst laughing, signing his advisor, 'Surely the Elves wrote these histories, Balin.'

Sona's eyes flickered between Thorin and Balin, catching the motion absent his meaning. And then she answered, head cocked, brow arched, so regal. "Or perhaps it's because Durin's folk are so damn secretive there wasn't much to read about."

Balin blushed.

Thorin returned her barb with a warm smile, how he wanted to laugh, enjoying the color in her face.

Of course you have an answer.

"But Gimli!" Glóin asked without asking. "You know of my wee lad, Gimli."

Her eyes shined, "Yes, I do." Like his namesake, Gimli would be a shining star. Thorin saw, they all saw by her expression, especially Glóin. Gimli would grow strong and brave, and he would meet challenge and not be dimmed. Glóin asked for no elaboration, knowing it best, somehow, to rest with mystery and hope. "'Tis enough to see your smile and the way your eyes light with excitement at the mention of his name."

"Tell us about that black rock, if you could, how it works, what is it?" again, Kíli asked, his curiosity a show of interest that would have Dís ruffled and beaming. "It flashes your––you––But you're not in it."

It was then Sona pulled her object back out. "It's not rock, Kíli," she smiled slightly, to reassure. "It's my fone."

Fone?

"That's what she called it, Thorin, while we were out there." Dwalin nodded back toward her.

"Many people, nearly everyone has these where I come from. It's how we keep in touch."

Everyone watched her, eyes wide and waiting, wondering. Then Ori spoke up. "So you don't write letters in the future?"

Sona laughed––oh the sound of it––flashing her smile back at Ori. "Yes, some of us still do that."

Ori smiled back, a look of relief on his face.

"And with these you can call long distance," she continued to explain her fone. "But there's no internet here."

Internet?

Then she shook her head a bit, slightly smiling at everyone's shared expression of bafflement. "Here. I'll show you some things it can do." She put her hand over the side, and suddenly it was lighting again, and a loud song began playing, with words imprinted over shining stripes of color bands, and various voices with instruments sounding. Thorin recognized the music––from where? The players couldn't be seen––was it memory? I know this–– how do I know this? It was not any kind of music I have heard before, and yet––he could not pin it down. The banded colors and writing appeared on the flat surface of the object, emitting light as if from inside it–– And then it hit him. Raise Your Glass––! Surprised, he recognized the notes of that song Sona taught them, that song they all loved. But here it was different, with many voices, many instruments. This version was clashing-hammers loud, and with long-wired vibrating sounds combined, and many drums. Sona looked over at Thorin, and mouthed, 'I play acoustic.'

Thorin nodded, now he understood.

"What about your family? Can you tell us about them? Can we see them?" Bombur asked Sona.

And suddenly there were portraits showing on the black object, and Sona was telling them who they were, a face to each of her loved ones, friends, the country of her homeland in the backgrounds. Thorin glanced over at Ori, who studied the portraits as they seemed to flash by with a particular interest, and somehow Thorin was heartened––because she is so far from home–– it is good we see them.

And then she called for the Company to all gather behind her, that she would take their picture. Not knowing what she meant––and not caring––they all gathered in, happy to be happy in her company. She asked them all to smile for the 'kamera', and they all smiled––for Sona––as a strange click followed, and then her fone went black once more.

The open air suddenly quiet, everyone stood around her as she turned to them, looking down sadly at her strange black object––her fone. Thorin watched her chest rise and fall, followed by a sigh and a shrug, and then she looked up to them, a brave smile on her face, as she slipped the fone back in her bag.

Why so sad now, Thief?

"I knew it had to run out of battery sooner or later," she answered, as if she heard his silent question. "And now it is truly dead."

Battery? And how had that––fone ever lived? Thorin wondered.

This was when Bombur interrupted, suggesting they eat the meal he'd prepared before it was time to prepare the next one.

Dwalin gripped Thorin's shoulder, glancing over him, noticing––more than Thorin offered to tell. "Where's your kit? How are you only half dressed here, Thorin?"

Balin passed by them, eyes going over Thorin, making his own assessment, wisely offering no comment.

The others made their way inside. Sona, filing in among them, was now in an intense conversation with Ori about the details of her family pictures he'd seen on her fone before it died.

Thorin sighed, hungry––not only for food. "At the river," he answered, recalling. "I'm going there now." It was then he took a walk back to the bank.

"If we hurry, there'll be food left," Dwalin said, keeping pace.

"How'd this come about, Thorin? Strolling back to the Bear Man's lodgings with Whatsafist, you half dressed, hand in hand with her, you oblivious you're half dressed––when have you ever left your armor on the bank of a river after bathing?"

"We were talking––"

"Aye, plain as day all cozy like, you were talking, you, with your armor still at the wash spot–– at the WASH SPOT!" Dwalin was full of words. "What was Whatsafist doing out there with you at the wash spot?"

"Pacifist. And you're sputtering," Thorin muttered, pulling into his armor, remembering earlier, just over there––she touched me, twice. His skin remembered both spots, but the cheek first and most fondly, as he half glared at his Friend who glared back, all red in the face. You would laugh if I thanked you for hitting me, Buhel.

"Well? You going to explain it?" Dwalin stepped back, leaned against a tree, and attempted to cool the red in his face.

"She found me here, just so you know."

"What's that matter? You don't see yourself all undone."

"I wasn't finished." Thorin pulled the tie lace out of the opened side of his brigandine, slipped his other arm and head through, and glanced back at his glaring Friend, who now looked about the bank as if he lost something.

"No?" Then Dwalin saw the water––as if for the first time. "Finished with what?"

Wasn't that obvious? Thorin starred at him, waiting. His hands fiddled with the lace, eyes still on Dwalin. "Mind helping me here?" Thorin could lace himself in, but there stood Dwalin––thinking too much.

"Wait," Dwalin's jaw dropped, eyes still on the water, and it took him a moment, but then he dug into his questions, too rattled to register Thorin's request––"She saw you bare?"

Thorin began lacing.

"What happened here?" Dwalin looked around the bank, searching for evidence––of what?

"What are you thinking, Dwalin?" Thorin interrupted his Friend's interrogation. Obviously, his prior remark had not elicited the desired result––I said too much.

"This looks like you've––"

"Stop." Thorin didn't want to know. "Blast it all, I told you, we were having a conversation––" One of few words––

With Gold Song looking at me, and how.

"Hah," Dwalin puffed, shaking his head. "Some conversation. Made you mighty forgetful." Dwalin looked over the armor, now tied on.

Indeed.

But Thorin had his own questions. "You never told me what she said out there––" when she cried, holding my handkerchief for comfort––"After Nori took her fone?"

"I'd like to punch him for that one––"

You are not the only one. "Sona gave her decision. It did not include a beating, Dwalin."

"He made her cry, that's––" Dwalin shook his head and let it go. "But then she said a lot, a lot that made her cry more, and she never let go of your hanky––"

A comfort.

Dwalin stopped on the word, with that look in his eye again. "That's been a mighty long loan, Thorin. She still has your hanky from when you loaned her your comb––"

"I gave it to her."

"You did what?"

Mahal.

"You gave her your hanky?"

Thorin adjusted his bracers. "Now you hear me."

"You're giving her gifts! And she saw you naked and bathing there? What now?" The color in Dwalin's face intensified. "Are you braiding her hair in secret, too?"

"Shut up, Dwalin," but Thorin didn't want his silence–– "Tell me what she said."

Does she want to go back? Does she regret her circumstance?

"She misses kin, she misses home, she misses things from––home. Her loved ones, she thinks they think she's dead, and she's right, they most likely do."

Dwalin let loose these words in spite of the glare he received in return.

"But as we know, Dwalin, she is not dead." Thorin let that sink in, until unspoken understanding appeared to register and his Friend looked away. "It is a nightmare, to be alive and thought dead. For both Sona and her family." Thorin made no mention of his own. "So, what did she say about this?" Because surely she said something.

"She feels guilt, as if she could amend anything, just by wishing it, and because we've been so busy, getting here, she thinks she hasn't thought of them enough." Dwalin studied the bank across the water. "It's gotten worse since Azog. Her guitar. It's part of her missing, like, even more than losing her––" Dwalin glanced at Thorin, "Her––

"David," Thorin helped his Friend. "Her deceased husband."

"Aye," Dwalin nodded, somehow eased by Thorin's directness. "But her guitar, being so much part of her, losing it now has made her more confused. And your hanky, she never let it go." Now Dwalin smiled a bit as he looked at him.

You see the comfort, too, Buhel.

"And she said she doesn't regret a thing," Dwalin went on. "I tell you in case your stubborn head thinks she does. But she worries she doesn't know her use anymore, as if all we wanted were a Minstrel in Waiting from her company among us." Dwalin's smile bloomed full grown. "If she only knew."

"Knew what, Dwalin?" Thorin would admit nothing, being sure of nothing.

Dwalin huffed and shrugged, now wagging his brows at Thorin. "Losing it makes her wonder what she's doing here." Then Dwalin leaned in, staring deeper into Thorin's face. "She said the White Witch of Lothlorien said once Whatsafist finds who she's looking for, she could go back, well. Sona says she did find him. And now she wonders why she hasn't all of a sudden disappeared back to wherever it was she came from, from the far faaaar future. Any idea who she's talking about, Thorin?"

Thorin stared, drawing his brows into a tighter frown. "I cannot say I know." This was too close to topics best shielded from any and all.

"She even mentioned the Valar," Dwalin wasn't finished. "Mahal, Thorin. And Tharkûn suggesting some high purpose to her coming here."

Sona came, and now she carries a heavy burden, one on behalf of all free folk of Middle-earth.

Thorin wondered if she gave permission, in the fogs, before, and somehow forgot. Else why would the Valar consent to such displacement? But he could not voice these considerations.

Dwalin stared into him, all the while, as if he saw more than any word Thorin refused to say, and doubted Thorin's judgment in addition. "Keep your secrets, then."

I will.

And it took a while for Dwalin to continue, as he surveyed the river bank this side of the water.

Thorin took a nudge at Dwalin's shoulder, as if to catch his attention. "Well?"

"Did I mention she kept hold of your hanky, as if it were her grounding stone, Buhel?"

"Aye." Several times.

"We've been roughing it, out here, on the journey," Dwalin mused, his voice going a bit soft. "I couldn't fathom what she meant, not all of it, but she misses comforts of home, and home as well."

"So what did you tell her, Dwalin?" How did you convince her not to cry?

Dwalin's face became a bit sheepish as he replied, "I told her she makes us greater, gives us heart. I didn't mention you." He snorted, then went on. "She's always welcome among us, but that only she can decide what road she would take."

Binumrâl. Thorin nodded. That was the crux of it.

"And after that, well," Dwalin continued. "She wanted to come back, although she––I could tell she didn't much want to deal with Nori, blast him."

She wanted to come back.

Thorin let it go at that. "Let's get back, before the food is gone."

And they quickly made their way back to their midday meal, happy to discover Sona and Bombur had made sure to save them each a full plate of food.

Several of the others were leaving the table, and Thorin spotted Nori aiming for the door, so he could disappear without notice. Dwalin saw as well, and would have none of it, hailing low at the Spy, "Ihnêfab'bing Creep." Dwalin attempted to shove him in passing.

Nori dodged the shove and ducked out of the lodgings without a word, not having spoken since accepting the Thief's apology. Not out of arrogance, Thorin knew. But for shame. This shame stemmed not from the actual act of going through Sona's belongings––surely Nori wanted to make sure Sona was who she claimed to be, as a service, one could not be too careful––and he thought of Thorin as Uzbad'ê––

––However unsettling that was.

No, it was the damage that action caused Nori's family and the Company. That was the thing that shamed him.

Thorin wondered how long it would take Sona's forgiveness to sink in, as he settled into a big plate of Bombur's finest berry muffins, served with honey, by Honey, and milk.

Later that evening, long after the Bear Man had left to hunt Orc, the Company gathered and continued questioning the Thief, their curiosity over her homeland and customs hard to quench. Thorin took a place by the door, and watched them query her.

Nori came in late. He gave Thorin a single silent look as he passed in through the door, choosing the path just in front of Dwalin, where, to Thorin's shock, the Spy muttered, "Bullshit," his finger like a dagger aimed at Dwalin––

Bullshit–– Ē'ze liked to say it.

It seems the Spy has accepted the Thief's forgiveness.

Nori glanced between the two of them. Catching Thorin's eye, he signed with a flourish, 'Honey taught me that one.'

Audacious Spy. You know who saved you.

Then Nori sat himself right next to Sona and offered her the most sincere smile he could muster in all humility, sly Dwarf. He asked her if she would tell them a story, not about her, he didn't want to pry, but popular tales of her times.

"Any specific kind?" she asked, smiling sweetly in return.

Oh, the openings you give. Thorin waited, quite curious, now that the Spy was talking once again. Evidently, Sona was curious too.

Then Nori glanced a knowing look at Thorin, before looking to Sona again, and clarified, "like the story in the songs you were singing at base the Carrock––"

When she had been braiding my hair–– Her faced darkened, taking in that request, remembering in hindsight just what she had done––her hands in my hair.

Why do you bring up that time, Spy? Are you an ingrate as well as audacious? Do you wish to mortify us both?

But no, Nori was a Spy who thieved now and then, that's why he wanted to hear it, surely.

Though Thorin wasn't so sure.

It was best to give Nori the benefit of doubt, so Sona sang a lively rendition of the story again, the story of the Thief called Aladdin, who, with help from his friends, magical creatures from magical realms, aids and wins the heart of the grieved Princess of the land. This time Thorin was able to concentrate on the plot, and he laughed to himself, remembering his mortification––how it felt, to feel your hands––and realizing she told a such a story of a Thief. He smiled at his Thief. Thorin knew his smile showed. He glanced and Dwalin, who could not help himself, how much he enjoyed this telling. And Nori as well. In spite of themselves, there was a thing they agreed upon.

When she finished the tale of Aladdin and the Princess, Bofur asked her for another.

No––this could go on all night, but not this night–– "We leave for Mirkwood in the morning." Thorin announced it. There'd been enough healing, and rest would be what it would be, wherever they stopped on their travels.

All eyes found his and quieted, nodding, chattering breaking the silence, and soon each was off to pack and make ready, and sleep before the morrow.

He found her in the kitchen, looking through her bag by the light of a single lamp. He heard the chime of coin, and her sigh. "What the hell."

Hell––? Thorin wondered––not for the first time––what hell was.

Whatever it was, she didn't like it.

She didn't want the coin. More than that––you don't know what to do with it.

Surely you understand restitution. "Honor demanded it," Thorin explained from the doorway. A use for the coin she would surely find later. What did they use in the lands where she came from, to barter an exchange among people, when the goods themselves could not be carried, and time was too short to offer service of skills? In all her belongings, he had not seen coin. It was no good for a woman of her abilities to go about on a journey over leagues with no coin––Although I do say, thus far you have done just fine without.

Her shoulder's sagged slightly as she shifted through her things. "Our cultures are so very different."

Asti––

It hurts me to think you feel alone.

"I wonder if I'll ever come to understand yours."

What? "Do you want to?" Thorin blinked and asked at the same time. There'd been a time he believed she hadn't held the slightest interest. So far we have come.

"Oh yes!" How excited and quickly she answered, giving it not the slightest thought.

Why?

"I find it fascinating."

Fascinating? How are we so interesting, Thief?

It disturbed him to wonder where they failed––Why think they failed, when she never suggested such? Why must I look for the fault line?

Uncertainty grew as the dawn drew nearer. It had built all day and into the night, along with the realization they were ready to be on their way, in spite of uncertainty. She was coming with them––with me––as if this were her only choice, as if the journey meant living, as automatic as breathing. Kaylîth. Indeed. They must go, but Azog was out there, after him and all he loved, several of them here with him on this Quest. Here. Right now.

I must be faster and smarter than Azog and the Sourcerer of Dol Guldur.

Not to mention the Dragon they head toward.

She watched him, and her face got serious, as if she'd stepped in a mess or something. "I don't mean in like a 'Oh! Look at these quaint little Dwarves and their backward ways'––"

What?

"But in a 'there is so much richness, depth, and majesty to them––"

Asti, I know you like us––

"I wonder how much they'll be willing to share with me' kind of way."

Everything, all of it––Asti Zarazrukmê––But you avoid my eyes, when it was you who saw me at the water, Asti.

"I keep waiting for one of you to tell me to stop asking questions," she said, turning her name ring for grounding, "to stop being so nosey, that it's none of my business."

Thorin smiled. You have seen the nosiness of Dwarves. Why would we condemn your questions?

But she would not look at him. She seemed almost shy, was that it––? Do you fear what I might see––? She faded in thought, and sighed, looking at her name ring by the dim light of the lamp, the shadows on her face exposing her weariness. She looked nearly as tired as he felt. "Will you not retire?" He asked, hoping she would rest before they traveled on.

Of a sudden her eyes were on his, sparked by an idea and the slightest hint of a smile as she looked him over. Do you remember me, in the water, Asti?

"Sure," she replied, rising, and for the briefest second, he imagined she had answered his silent question. "If you do."

Aye, I do––

But then he recalled the moment they were in, now. And he realized she meant him, retiring as well––No. It was too early."I still have much to––"

"Nope. No way. Don't give me that, Grump-muffin."

Muzzled once more, Asti. How you do that, calling me that––muffin.

Her hands were on her hips in a power stance much like N'amad'ê took when she set her mind to business, or to sisterly force, and the smirk on the Thief's face did not hide the seriousness she carried beneath it. "You're exhausted and you're going to at least try to sleep tonight. Come on."

And then she had hold of his hand again––sweet hand––and they were heading to the sleeping quarters of the Bear Man's lodging, one last night in the hay. Thorin intended to wait on the Thief falling asleep, knowing sleep would elude him, but she would not get into her bedroll until he got into his, and there she watched him, the little Bean snuggled close to her. Sona watched to be sure Thorin shut his eyes, and he checked, now and then, to see if she still watched, and thusly, indeed, before he even thought he could be irritated––grump muffin––in spite of himself, and all his efforts otherwise, rest came.

/T\oSo/T\oDo/T\

Khuzdûl:

Zarazrukmê – improve what's already complete

A/N: Thank you readers! And thank you Jenny-Wren28! We are almost on the road again.